


All Yours for the Low, Low Price of...

by Meltha



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Humor, M/M, basement years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-10
Updated: 2011-11-10
Packaged: 2017-10-25 22:11:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/275378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meltha/pseuds/Meltha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike has his own way of passing the time while Xander's at work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Yours for the Low, Low Price of...

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Mutant Enemy (Joss Whedon), a wonderfully creative company whose characters I have borrowed for a completely profit-free flight of fancy. Kindly do not sue me, please, as I am terrified of you. Thank you.
> 
> Written for the Xander round at maleslashminis for bruttimabuoni who requested Spander, an in-the-tv-series setting (I’m actually blurring on exactly when Spike moved out of the basement, so I hope this works), Giles, and a money problem with no character bashing or Spuffy repercussions.

It’s all Xander’s fault, really. I’m not expected to have an iota of self-control. It’s part of the vampire package deal along with freedom from dental decay and an ability to attract anyone of either sex with a crook of a finger.

Well, maybe that last part’s just me. I don’t want to think about the Master having that particular ability. Damn, now my brain needs bleach.

Anyway, it would be perfectly obvious to anyone with a brain that there are certain things one doesn’t do if one has a vampire as a houseguest, small things like not leaving buxom young virgins lying about or leaving the key to Fort Knox sitting on the countertop. Granted, Xander didn’t take it quite that far, but really, his wallet? Sitting there, so lonely looking on top of the washing machine, vibrating in pure unhappiness during the fabric softener cycle? Well, I’m not one to let cash and credit cards weep in unfulfillment. Got a heart, I do, even if it is unbeating.

As I said, entirely Xander’s fault. He’s the one who left the thing home. After all, he was delivering pizzas all night without a license on him. That’s illegal, that is. Naughty, naughty boy, breaking the law like that. He deserved a bit of punishment, and I figured I might too by the time I was done. Relishing a bit of punishment is another item in the vampire package deal, whether I’m the one giving it or getting it.

So I made a few purchases. Nothing major, of course, though, since his credit line isn’t that big. Still, this basement needed an overhaul, and a few calls, a few shopping shows, one or two Internet sites later, and I was quite sure that the home makeover would be more than worth it.

It took a couple weeks for the boxes to start arriving. Xander started wondering who was sending him prezzies. The little stuff came first: salt and pepper shakers, fifteen sets of them; his first shipment from the cheese of the month club (Limburger); several dozen back issues of Playboy; something Cher was hawking in an infomercial. I’m still not exactly clear what the last one does. I think it either works out the calves or removes stubborn stains.

It was when the black leather bedspread arrived that he knew exactly what had happened. I could see it in his eyes as he slowly looked up from the opened box, the scent of leather filling the room, and stared at me.

“You did this,” he said, his words sounding, well, maybe a tad murderous.

“Yup,” I said, popping the p loudly.

He looked at the thing, which had pretty much fractured his spending limit and brought a sad but abrupt end to my spree. Then, abruptly, he was on his feet, searching through boxes, behind furniture, under that stupid couch, and the intensity did maybe concern me a little.

“What are you looking for?” I asked, sounding casual.

“Stake,” he said automatically.

That had been my guess, but I’d taken the precaution of removing all the most obvious bits of random wood from the basement weeks ago.

“Now, now, Xander,” I said, leaning back in the extremely ugly chair and giving him a spectacularly sexy smirk (also part of the vampire package deal). “That’s not what you want to do.”

“I’m thinking it really kind of is,” Xander said, get back to his feet from scrounging under the couch. “You stole my credit card.”

“No,” I said, registering shock and indignation. “I put it right back in your wallet after I maxed it out.”

Xander made a strangling sound, then, without warning, he sprang a rather impressive distance for a human and knocked me flat on the floor.

“Ooo, want to play, do you?” I said, wriggling just so, knowing full well I was going to get away with this if I just managed to look shaggable enough, which I could do in my sleep if I wanted.

“This! This is why I couldn’t buy coffee today!” he said.

“You were trying to charge a cup of coffee?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Couldn’t scrape together the spare change for a cuppa at Mickey D’s?”

He shoved off of me, which disappointed me rather more than I wanted to admit, and sat staring at nothing.

“I was at the Espresso Pump. Giles was playing tonight, and Willow figured, hey, why not all show up and give him our support or whatever crazy thing was going on her head, and personally, me? Not so much for the second internal scarring over seeing people staring at Giles like he was some kind of rock legend, but hey, it’s what they wanted to do. I figured I’d be nice and buy everyone a round of caffeine, but do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to have your card rejected when you’re buying something that’s only twenty bucks?” Xander said, all in one rush.

I shrugged.

“Giles had to bail me out!” he shouted, obviously really angry now. “He gave me the look!”

“What look?” I asked, and immediately a spark of jealousy started up.

“The Look of Eternal Disappointment! The one where he cleans his glasses on his pocket handkerchief and makes that tsking noise,” he said, glaring at me.

“Oh, that,” I said, relaxing, having been on the receiving end of that particular expression several dozen times a day when I lived in his flat’s bathtub. The man must have had the cleanest glasses in the California.

“I am going to kill you,” he enunciated very clearly.

“Too late,” I returned. “Besides, you don’t really want to.”

“What I really want is to send all this crap back where it came from!” he said. “Salt and pepper shakers? Cheese? Just how crazy are you!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, getting up and strolling leisurely towards the most recent box and pulling the leather comforter out. “What about this?”

“It’s going back! Now!”

“Really?” I said, laying it across the couch and quickly flicking my shirt over my head before lying against the soft leather.

I knew how I looked. White skin, black leather, jeans riding low over my hips, and when I saw Xander swallow with a good deal of difficulty? Yeah, I knew this was going to go my way. This was exactly the push he needed: a little anger to get the blood stirring, immediately followed by a hit to every sense in reach.

“Wanna try it out?” I said, patting the spot next to me. “I think you’ll like it.”

I let him take the invitation however he wanted and, of course, I got exactly what I wanted in return. The leather is still draped over the couch, and so am I, and so is he. I always get what I want. Really, it’s all part of the package deal.

I do hope he cancels that cheese club, though. Limburger nearly puts me off kissing him.

Nearly.


End file.
